Asking
by Kyla45
Summary: Ezio didn’t know how. Altair couldn’t conceive of it. Desmond was too stubborn. But sometimes, you have to ask for what you want. Three-shot. AltMal, EzLeo, DesShaun
1. Chapter 1

Leonardo was deeply engrossed in a painting, so wholly captured that the outside world dimmed, and nothing else much mattered. Ezio wouldn't have minded, but today he found his ire rising with each passing moment.

" Leonardo," he said. The artist barely twitched, and something like a hum came out of his throat in response.

Trying, and mostly failing to fight down his surge of annoyance, he opted for a full blown assault.

He approached the man, and tugged on his hair. Again, Leonardo barely registered the touch, and he barely noticed the way Ezio was practically emitting an aura of insistence.

And why did he want Leonardo's undivided attention? Ezio didn't really want to think about it too deeply, but the exhausted ache of his muscles, combined with his absence from the man for two weeks probably had something to do with it. He was so aggravated that there hadn't been a grand parade at his arrival, in fact, that there had been next to nothing.

Leonardo was busy, distractedly telling him the painting he was working on was commissioned, and due to be picked up tomorrow. Of course, he'd barely started.

He'd been standing in front of his canvas when Ezio had arrived, and he hadn't budged since then. There had been no flurry of movement, and no warm embrace. A rushed 'Ezio! So good to see you are back!' and nothing more substantial than that.

Ezio hated feeling things that he wasn't accustomed to. His utter craving for the other man's attention, for instance, was unprecedented. Thus far, it had never been something he'd had to insist upon. Leonardo always gave it to him, and mostly demanded more of it from him anyway.

It was strange to feel angry at himself; to be so frustrated at the lack of recognition. He wanted, and needed, and God, _two_ weeks!

" Leonardo!" he called, a little more forcefully this time, near-glaring a hole in the back of his head.

" Ah, just a moment, Ezio..." he trailed off.

A moment? Ezio knew how to be patient, in fact, it was a vital trait for assassins. But right now he forgot what the word meant, and he forgot that the world didn't revolve around him.

" I have places to be, Leonardo. If this is a bad time, I'm afraid I must take my leave early." This was, of course, a lie. Right now, Ezio had nowhere to be; nowhere he'd rather be.

" Ezio," the artist turned briefly to look back at him. " Please wait a while, just a little while," he said, again concentrating on the canvas, his paintbrush moving fluidly.

" I cannot wait forever," the assassin returned curtly.

Leonardo waved a hand at him, though he still faced his painting. " Please, you are distracting enough as it is, and I must complete this!" he stressed.

" Distracting? Then perhaps I should leave," he bit out, more harshly then was necessary. Really, Ezio just wanted the man close, wanted to feel his warmth, _wanted_.

Ezio turned on his heels, but a strangled type of sound came from the artist, stopping him. When the assassin looked, Leonardo was biting his bottom lip, and then in a very fast movement, he barreled into Ezio's chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

" No, no, _amore mio_, you must not leave. I wanted to finish the painting first, I wanted to...oh, but you are too distracting!" Leonardo groaned, his face buried against Ezio's shoulder.

It distantly registered somewhere that Leonardo had simply been prioritizing, and trying to get one thing done at a time. Ezio felt mean and childish, and scolded himself inwardly.

" You were gone so long, and I know I cannot wait, but I must! This painting-" Leonardo was still talking hurriedly into his skin, and Ezio could feel the heat radiating off the man.

With an impatient growl, Ezio interrupted the artist. " Enough, Leonardo." He tugged on the man's hair again, silently demanding more contact.

Leonardo raised his head, blinking the desire out of his eyes, before he glanced uneasily to the side. " I cannot..."

Ezio frowned. " I do not mean to distract you for hours," he groused. " But just..." he faltered for a moment, floundering because he'd never had to _ask_ before. In his lifestyle, he didn't ask for permission or leave or acceptance, he took. He was not familiar with the concept, though it was the simplest, most basic thing, it seemed far away from him; foreign.

"Kiss me?" he asked tentatively, trying not to let his uncertainty show.

Leonardo looked at him for a while, expression conveying nothing and Ezio began to lose hope. He was going to excuse himself, then, and cover his disappointment with a cocky smile. If his artist had to work, then he must let him work, even if only to make up for his selfishness earlier.

However, Ezio was shocked out of his resignation when Leonardo's hands rose to tangle in his hair. With a loud, needy moan he was crushing their lips together in a blistering kiss. Ezio was quick to respond, reveling in the familiarity and realizing how much he'd missed it.

They deepened the kiss, pressing close together, fumbling in their eagerness. Someone moaned, and neither could be sure who it was, or even if it were a collective response. Leonardo's lips were soft and pliant and tasted of wine and honey.

When they separated they were both out of breath, and Leonardo shivered as Ezio's hands roamed languidly up and down his spine.

" There, _amore mio_, a kiss. I must return to my work—_ah._"

Ezio's hands weren't letting go anytime soon. " I missed you, Leonardo," he whispered, leaning close to the other's ear. " So kiss me."

" I have already done that," Leonardo forced out, his voice weak.

" Should I even have to ask? Kiss me again and again, everywhere. Kiss me."

With a breathy exhale, Leonardo nuzzled his cheek against Ezio. " _Tu sei diabolico_," he whispered disapprovingly, even though his body was melting and struggling to get closer to Ezio's.

" But I have some redeeming qualities, no?" Ezio quipped, smiling crookedly.

Leonardo tried to look skeptical, but his sparkling eyes gave him away, and soon he was laughing: Ezio was already tugging on the restraints of his clothing.

" I have a painting," Leonardo said distantly, lost in the way nimble fingers danced across his skin.

" Then, I shall not distract you any longer than necessary," Ezio replied.

Leonardo had some sense to reply, but the words were stuck in his throat. Ezio was moving his hands in the way he loved, Ezio smelled like sunshine and sweat; Ezio was here.

They slumped together on the cold, stone floor of his workshop, but Leonardo didn't care.

It wasn't perfect, as most things aren't.

At the first touch from calloused, warm hands, Leonardo was squirming and gasping. Embarrassingly, he was already dangerously close to unraveling. It had been so long, and he really couldn't help it. His hands closed vice-like over Ezio's shoulders, and he pushed himself closer, vibrating with energy. He panted into the quick, sloppily desperate kisses, pulling on coarse hair hard, his body deliciously overheated. Ezio hummed deeply, his hand a sin on his body, but so good that it couldn't possibly be. Would never be.

Leonardo had missed his hands. His body, his presence, his everything. _Oh. _He couldn't think suddenly, and he tired to voice a warning that he wouldn't last long like this, but all he could manage was a gooey sound when Ezio's hand went just like _that._

The smug sound of approval that followed made Leonardo even more incapable of coherence.

And then Leonardo was pressing tightly against Ezio's body, shuddering and crying out some garbled phrase of pleasure. His head fell onto a strong shoulder as his body was wracked with sensation, and when it passed his chest was heaving almost unbearably. Ezio rubbed his belly, and Leonardo couldn't stop the pleased moan.

" That was quick, _amore_," Ezio commented, the barest hint of amusement tinging his voice.

" I am sorry," the artist panted. After a while he added coquettishly, " I have missed you, too."

" Evidently," Ezio said, his tone fond under the teasing.

Leonardo chuckled breathlessly, and lifted his head, looking at Ezio's face. " I am sure you have missed me more," he said, lips quirked in a challenge as his eyes darted to the front of Ezio's breeches.

" Are you positive?" he asked, accepting the challenge, raising an eyebrow in mock incredulity. His relaxed smile destroyed the image, and his blazing eyes betrayed how very much he needed Leonardo's touch.

Jovial or no, the artist knew Ezio couldn't help but take a challenge seriously. Though, Ezio's heated, darkened eyes did not go amiss. Leonardo observed the lips that were swollen from their kisses, how the assassin's chest rose and fell almost subtly in excitement, and how his breath quickened just enough for him to notice. His body language was completely open, vulnerable, and Leonardo felt happy, blessed even, and most of all, very confident.

" Quite."

At first Leonardo used his hands, and watched with hungry eyes as Ezio tried to bite back his groans. Ezio did not like losing, he knew.

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tanned skin of Ezio's neck. " Shall I have to kiss you, kiss you everywhere?" he murmured, his lips lightly brushing salty skin.

" Yes, I think so," Ezio managed, his voice labored.

" Manners," Leonardo said, touching his lips to a pulsing vein, sucking there.

" Yes, _please,_" Ezio corrected, the breathy laugh cut off when Leonardo journeyed down quickly, leaving a wet trail like fresh paint, and indeed kissing him _everywhere._

" Oh."

It was Ezio's turn to lose control, and with a muted moan, he had lost all semblance of it. His body arched and he could not catch his breath. His husky, half-grunt was more gratifying than the loudest cry, and Leonardo cherished it, memorizing the sound.

Ezio fell back, breathing heavily. Leonardo was fascinated by the way his stomach muscles clenched, the way his diaphragm moved, and he was lost in the movement. He crawled along the assassin's prone body, propping himself up on his elbows.

" You missed me more."

" Hmm?" he murmured, trailing a hand absentmindedly over Leonardo's bare shoulder, fingertips tracing invisible lines.

Leonardo smiled. " You lost."

" Did I?"

" Yes, I'm afraid so."

Ezio smiled lazily; his cheeks were still flushed and there were strands of hair sticking to his damp skin. Leonardo had to kiss him. So he did.

No, it hadn't been perfect, but that was the way Leonardo liked it. He glanced down at their bodies, noted the mess, and vaguely thought he should clean up and get back to work. He shifted atop Ezio, trying to extract himself from the warm embrace.

He stopped suddenly, looking down, only half-surprised.

Ezio grinned.

" Kiss me?"

Leonardo had been distracted all night. He'd barely finished his painting in time, but as soon as he had, he was very gladly distracted again.

* * *

Whoa, I had fun with this. Too much fun, I think.

Anyway, I've decided to do all three couples with the theme of 'kissing' and asking for it. Oh yeah, I'm a freak, but that's okay. Hopefully this was equally as okay, if it was, please leave me a review! I thrive on them like...like it's the equivalent to gay ASS-creed porn.

AND ALSO, sorry for ambiguous sex, I just felt like writing it that way. I'm half experimenting and trying to change things up. Hope everything was clear and made sense. I felt, how you say, abstract? XD (also: premature orgasms ftw?) -drool-

PS. NEXT UP Shaun and Desmond!

love,  
Kyla


	2. Chapter 2

" Tell me again," Shaun slurred.

" Well, okay. From the beginning?"

He nodded, his expression turning sour. " Of course, stupid. I don't want something told from the end."

A wave of the hand, uncaring. " Yeah, yeah, asshole. Do you want to hear the story or not?"

" Go on, then," he replied, the smallest hint of anxiousness seeping through his annoyed exterior.

" Right." Desmond paused for effect, drawing in a breath before continuing. " Once upon a time and all that, there was this really proud, obnoxious guy. He barely listened to anyone, in fact, he thought he was better than most people. This belief wasn't unfounded, so he wasn't a total dick, but you can understand how he wouldn't have been liked."

" Mhm."

" So here was this guy, this extraordinary, dangerous guy. He was strong, agile, instinctual; he meant death if you were the enemy. And oh, he was proud, the proudest you could imagine. Not unfounded, of course, like I said, but still, proud to a fault. His name was Altair, and he was an assassin, like us, way back in the day."

" Enough with the long introduction, get on with it!" Shaun groused irritably, taking a swig from his beer.

" Hey! You're the one who wanted to hear it from the start!" Desmond replied scathingly.

Shaun waved his bottle in the air dismissively, a silent gesture to continue.

" So, one mission, he exercised his pride to the limit. It ended in disaster, and he had to return to his master and say 'I've failed.' But beyond the facts, he'd really screwed up his only real friendship, even if it was exasperating and undefined to both parties. Altair had cost Malik his arm and his brother in the course of one day."

Though it was the second time Shaun was hearing the story, he still nodded solemnly, his eyes grave. The copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed actually improved his attention to Desmond, rather than worsening it.

" Altair wouldn't apologize; I don't think he could have. He'd been demoted to a novice, and it was all he could think of, even with Malik pissed off and bleeding in front of him. They'd parted ways that day, and it couldn't have been on shittier terms. They hardly spoke to each other, and if they did there were only snarls and yelling. There wasn't much there but bitterness and hurt, where there had once been a sort of odd, but special kind of friendship. Cause, well, it was just that there weren't many people who could put up with Altair, and Malik seemed to do so willingly. I know Altair was really thankful for that, even if he never said it."

Shaun chose this moment to speak up. " Enough with your babble, I know already, stop getting sidetracked!"

Desmond smiled lazily.

" Yeah, yeah, yeah. They were completely estranged, and none the better for it. They'd both been devastated, Altair with his demotion, and Malik with his. I suppose Malik had more to contend with; what with the loss of his arm, which basically put him out of the job, and the death of his brother. He became a bureau Dai, and Altair scrambled to redeem himself. It was a really screwed up situation, and there were a lot of yucky emotions to go with it."

Desmond paused to take a swig from his own beer, frowning as he finished it. He reached down for another, throwing the empty into a growing pile. " Time went by, but things like that don't just blow over, and aren't just miraculously forgiven on their own. Eventually, after months and months of mutual avoidance and snarling at each other, Altair apologized; _with words_. And it seemed all was forgiven, at least, on the outside."

" But it wasn't..." Shaun mumbled, head lolling back against the couch.

" Well," Desmond said thoughtfully. " Maybe it was, but all I know is how Altair felt. He didn't feel absolved, and he'd really only apologized because he couldn't stand the distance. Of course he'd meant it, but he didn't think it was enough. His guilt hadn't been erased, and he could only think about how different things were between him and Malik, and that made him angry at himself. So he tried to push the notions away."

" Bit of a coward, wasn't he?" Shaun commented. " Afraid to feel human or some cowardly bullshit like that."

Desmond smiled despite himself. " Yeah, he was, in a way, but his cowardice didn't work. He stayed up all night thinking and doubting himself, which to say was rare would be an understatement. He thought there was something wrong with him for being so foolish, and he started to hate himself, to consider himself weak. Above all, he didn't know why he couldn't stand the way Malik looked at him."

" How did Malik look at him?" Shaun asked, the detail having escaped him even though he'd heard the story already.

" Well," Desmond scrunched up his face, thinking. " It wasn't much of a look at all...I think that's what bothered Altair." The modern-day assassin shrugged, taking another sip of his newly opened beer.

" They obviously had unresolved issues."

" So then, what happened?"

Desmond eyed Shaun doubtfully. " You already know what happens. _Nothing_ else happens. The end."

" Well yeah, I was hoping something would change the second time you told me."

" You're a historian!" he exclaimed, dubious. " The facts don't change just 'cause you repeat them, you of all people should-"

" I know _that,_" Shaun retorted, offended. " But we're both drunk. I was hoping you'd omitted something due to your inebriation. That ending was no ending at all. In fact, the entire story was ridiculously without plot or sense," he finished haughtily.

" I am sorry," Desmond laughed, too drunk to be insulted, and too tickled at how _wordy _Shaun was, even in their state. " That the story wasn't any better the second time around. I didn't stick around long enough at Abstergo to find out the ending."

Shaun muttered something harsh, as he sunk even further onto the dingy couch they were both sprawled on. Desmond said nothing, tipping back his beer lazily.

Finally, as if in a daze, the historian grumbled, " Make up an ending, then, won't you?"

Desmond was dozy enough as it was. " How am I supposed to do that?"

" You spent a fair bit of time following Altair, didn't you?" Shaun snapped, voice surprisingly clear despite the slur. " You know him. _Extrapolate_. Now, tell me an ending," he demanded, swiveling his eyes over to glare at Desmond.

" Hmm," Desmond was momentarily distracted by the spark of interest in Shaun's eyes. It was thrilling, really. " Do you want a happy ending?"

" Oh, do you think I honestly care? I want an ending!" he enunciated peevishly. Desmond couldn't stop the harsh chortle when he thought how like a child Shaun was acting: exactly like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum, demanding toys.

Shaun glared at him again, so Desmond cleared his throat, trying not to laugh further.

" Alright, an ending."

The historian settled, satisfied and still very (adorably) drunk.

" Okay...well. Altair felt like shit, and all he needed was some reaffirmation, something to happen that proved things were okay. That was just a bother though, because he was, well, himself. He didn't need anyone's approval or confirmation, and the one thing he'd never be able to work out, incidentally, was that he _did_ need Malik's."

" Right," Shaun said. " Get on with it."

" Shut it," Desmond chided, snapping out his foot to nudge the other, prompting a loud huff of annoyance. Shaun waited for him to continue, however, and Desmond smirked. Was the man hanging on his every word, interested in him, captivated, or was he just drunk?

" On a day like any other Altair corners Malik and says,

' Forgive me.' The words are blunt and without preamble. Malik just kind of looks at him.

' For what?'

Altair is getting frustrated at this point, and so he says, more firmly this time: ' Forgive me.'

' Altair, have you suddenly reverted to the tendencies of a child?' Malik scoffs.

Now, there's only so far Altair can go. He doesn't know how to ask for things, especially when he only has some vague sense of why he needs them. So he puts on a glare and begins to stomp away, insulting Malik before he goes."

Desmond paused to work at his beer, and Shaun extends his own foot in a half-hearted gesture of violence.

" Is that all?" he asked crossly.

" I'm thinking, dumby," he said simply.

" You're even more annoying when you're drunk," Shaun rolls his eyes, but quiets down all the same.

Desmond ignores him, and continues.

" So, Altair is storming off, probably to go kill something, but Malik stops him.

' Altair!' he says, catching the assassin on the arm. ' What is wrong with you? Well, more wrong than usual, shall I say,' he says with a teasing air.

' Nothing,' Altair snarls, ripping his arm away. Malik looks at him again, really looks. He's a smart guy, the observant type, so he figures it out pretty quickly. But then he's always been able to figure Altair out.

' Ah, but it is something, is it not?' he corrects, his voice coaxing and adaptive to Altair's volatile mood.

' No, you are mistaken, Malik.'

Malik snorts, shaking his head. Altair glares.

' Why do I always the misfortune of dealing with such a cretin?' Malik complains, though is voice is light and fond. ' Come here.'"

Shaun barks a cynical laugh, interrupting the storyteller. " Though the dialogue would be a nice touch, yours kind of sucks, moron."

Desmond frowns, irritation piqued. " You're the one who asked for this."

Before Shaun could retort with something sarcastic Desmond made a ridiculous 'shushing' noise, repeating the noise in stuttering waves every time the historian tried to talk until Shaun closed his mouth in agitation. Glaring levelly, he launched back into his narrative with an excessive throat clearing first.

" Altair wouldn't move, so Malik walked to him, looking pained. In the close proximity and in the face of Altair's sour, defensive expression, Malik smiled a crooked smile (and I know how expressly Altair liked his crooked smiles; being in his head and all).

Malik roughly grabbed Altair's shoulder, glaring him down when he tried to lash out. With a quiet but annoyed, 'Be still' he first kissed Altair's forehead, eliciting a gasp from Altair," Desmond was gesturing vaguely with his hand as he told his story, inwardly amused at the mental image of Altair gasping for any reason.

" Altair didn't pull away, and Malik gave him something of a knowing look. Then he kissed his nose, and finally his lips in a chaste brushing. Altair's knees were weak suddenly, and he wanted to kill himself for it. But still, he understood.

_I forgive you, _that's what Malik was saying with his lips, you know, without saying anything_. _It was the acknowledgment that things had stayed the same and yet changed, but changed for the better. Altair understood it as perfectly as though a map had been drawn out for him, and though he couldn't verbally express his gratitude, he leaned close to the waiting man, grabbed his hair and tugged at him needily to convey his message."

Shaun was looking at Desmond as though he'd grown a second head. The modern-day assassin's smirk turned into a full-blown maniacal grin. Maybe it was the alcohol giving him the boldness required for such a story, or maybe he'd been contemplating it for so long that he couldn't leave it alone.

" After the prolonged kiss, Altair breathed,

' Tell me again.'

Malik smiled crookedly.

And they told each other a lot of other things without words that night, and lived happily ever after," he finished with a flourish, waving his beer in a short arc to encompass 'happily ever after.'

" What," Shaun finally managed after some failed attempts at speech. " was...that?" he near-screeched, seeming an interesting mix between offended and incredulous.

Desmond did laugh this time, leaning back in a practiced way as he drank from his beer.

" _Extrapolation_."

" No," Shaun said decidedly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. " That was a load of shit."

" Of course it wasn't," Desmond replied simply. " Altair liked Malik, or do you want to tell me he didn't when I was the one inside his head?"

" That's just...not," Shaun looked unwilling. And then, " Honestly?"

A drunk Shaun was much more agreeable, Desmond distantly decided. Hell, this was the most relaxed he'd been since his life had taken a turn for the _weird_ and Abstergo had kidnapped him. It was the most relaxed he'd been in forever, and it was in Shaun's company. Then again, that was weird, too.

" Yeah, but uh, it's not like that actually happened, remember? I made it up," Desmond shrugged.

" But the feelings weren't made up," Shaun mused, burping as he slumped boneless into the cushions.

" Yeah," he agreed. " I guess you'd hope things worked out, because Altair was a psycho, and he would've needed someone to ground him," Desmond said through a yawn.

" Mm."

" Y'know," Desmond continued in a daze. " I don't think anyone else would've made Altair happier."

Shaun gave the other a look, almost disgusted. " Don't tell me you believe in all that 'soul mate' bullshit?"

Desmond smiled indulgently. " I didn't use to."

" You are a delusional moron then," Shaun said, his face pinched in disapproval.

" What, haven't you ever been in love?" Desmond questioned.

Shaun sneered, although he looked away. " That's got nothing to do with it. You can be in love, but it doesn't mean anything will come of it."

" Oh," Desmond said. He supposed that was true. " Are you talking from experience?"

A death glare aimed at the wall. " No, Desmond."

" Oh."

Shaun said nothing more, still stubbornly looking away.

Desmond was starting to fiddle with the hem of his shirt, but he couldn't help it because he'd learnt to hate silence like this almost as fast as he'd learnt how to walk. It was too easy to read it as strained or tense, and there were so few moments that he could claim as comfortable in silence. For that he resented it, bitterly aware of what it almost always became.

Vehemently opposed to such a silence now, Desmond spoke to fill and erase the quiet, hardly remembering each word as it passed through his lips. He didn't care though, he hated awkward silence, and he wanted Shaun's attention again, he greedily wanted it all.

" You know I think if... if something is supposed to happen, it's just a matter of patience and faith. Well, take Altair and Malik. Instead of my made-up story, they probably just eventually _knew_. They probably didn't even have to talk, just decided one day, one hour, one moment. Like the type of transition you can't pinpoint when or how it happened. They probably wondered why they'd waited so long."

Shaun was glaring even harder at the wall, and Desmond feared for its safety.

" Yeah. That's what I think. You decide with that person."

Desmond was vaguely aware how much he was setting himself up to be burned to a crisp by any number of insulting words, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He'd warded off the silence, and he was dazed and wanting to hear Shaun's voice again.

" You," Shaun finally said, voice hard, " are so completely fucked in the head."

Desmond noticed that Shaun's cheeks were a splotchy red, most likely from the beer, and his lips seemed a shade darker. His eyes were glassy; glazed over, like those delicious doughnuts he loved so much. Desmond couldn't believe himself, but the thought invaded like cancer and suddenly all he could focus on was whether Shaun would taste like a doughnut. If so, would he be sweet or salty, or just bitter? He certainly looked..._taste-able._

" Well, fuck you."

He watched Shaun's face – were his lips glossy too? – and a familiar impulse rose in him, the kind he got when an attractive woman walked into a bar and flirted with him as she ordered her drink. It hit him like a train, knocking the breath out of him, surprising him (frightening him), and yet it was so very suffocating and strong, he feared what would happen if he didn't listen to it.

_Crud_, he thought hazily. With some distant voice warning him that he would regret this, Desmond leaned in and kissed Shaun on the lips, chaste at first, but pressing tighter, wanting more. Sweet_ and_ salty.

His mind was pleasantly filled of doughnut fantasies and the taste of Shaun, but then his little world of muted, dream-like slowness switched to one of violent swiftness. Shaun made some angry sound in the back of his throat, and pushed him away, hands bruising Desmond's arms.

" What the _hell _are you doing?" Shaun's voice was like steel, his tone biting like barbed wire.

" Uh," Desmond couldn't exactly _think_. He licked his lips and missed the warmth that had just been there. The only thing his mind was capable of retaining was the way Shaun's cheeks were a brilliant red. "Your cheeks _are_ really red," he mused, as if to himself.

Shaun's face was scary. " If you ever do that again, I will kill you. Do you understand, Miles? I will skewer you on a pole, and have your body chopped into unrecognizable bits."

Desmond become impudent at Shaun's tone, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind in his defense. " What the hell did I do?" Admittedly it wasn't the best defense.

" What?" Shaun was furious now, it showed in his voice. " Are you mentally ill? You idiot, you _kissed_ me!"

" Oh. Right. Well," he scratched his head awkwardly, and feared the silence to come. What _had_ he been thinking? The longer he looked at Shaun's livid features, the faster it took for that giant switch to be flipped, the one that caused all the panic to flood in. _Oh God_. No, this was okay, it was because he'd wanted doughnuts and Shaun…was a doughnut...No, no, that wasn't it. He was drunk, yes. That explained it. " Sorry about that," he said stiffly, suddenly scared out of his mind.

Shaun seemed to relax a little, as though everything was okay, when, Desmond thought, it really wasn't. Desmond frowned, confused, when suddenly all the crappy romance movies he'd ever seen came rushing into his mind. He knew, even though he didn't want to, every tired device of romance, all the deluded drama and mind-fuckery. His mouth fell open in revelation.

He also knew any other guy wouldn't brush off a kiss so easily, _especially_ from another guy.

" Did you...want me to kiss you?" Desmond asked in a garbled kind of way, almost astonished. Whether or not he was grasping at straws, it seemed plausible that Shaun _liked _him. Manifested with the help of alcohol, it was in the way he didn't want to talk about unrequited love, to the way he avoided looking at him, and the way his cheeks had gone so red. His hollow anger at being kissed, and the empty threats that were a mere front for the simple fear of being found out. It was textbook, and Desmond never imagined in a million years that Shaun would ever be textbook.

" Why the hell would you think that?" Shaun spat, voice solid and convincing, but cheeks turning redder by the moment.

" Lots of reasons," he said slowly, still half surprised.

He noticed that Shaun was completely backed up at the other end of the couch and he was practically hissing and snarling like a coiled up snake trying to defend itself.

" Reasons my ass. Shut it Miles, and stop making assumptions, you presumptuous bastard!"

Shaun opened his mouth to say more, but Desmond beat him to it. He wanted more of that salty sweetness, and he'd never had a problem with textbook cases; in fact, he still wasn't convinced that Shaun - prissy, smart, amazing Shaun - could really be textbook. So he went out on a limb, listening to his erratic impulses.

" Well, you know, I'm not the type to kiss people just because," he said, hoping he didn't sound too stupid. And it was true too, he'd had the impulse a million times before (there were a lot of pretty women in bars) but he'd never acted on it, he'd never found himself leaning over the bar to initiate, well, _anything_. But now...

Shaun opened his mouth again, but could say nothing. His cheeks were turning red again.

Finally, " Oh, fuck off, would you? I'm glad I won't have to remember this in the morning."

Desmond shook his head; he wasn't backing down. " You wanted me to kiss you, and I… I'd like to do it again, so can I?" (He vaguely noted that he sounded like some teenager asking for permission to kiss his date goodnight, and he felt pathetic.)

Shaun was struggling, though his eyes were steely and mean. " No, you moron, how many times do I have to tell you? I don't want..."

" You're making this hard," Desmond said, frowning, and smarting from what sounded like a rejection. After all those embarrassing things he'd said, he was feeling more moronic by the second. He was essentially making an idiot out of himself for nothing and exactly how many layers of armor did this guy wear?

" No, I'm not," Shaun hissed with a sudden intensity. " You're drunk, I'm drunk, you won't remember any of this, and you probably don't even _mean-_" his voice caught on the last word, and he looked away.

Desmond was silent for a moment, and he hated himself for it. " Would it matter at all how many times I told you?"

Shaun shot him a withering glare, something hurt behind the defense. " Fuck off."

Feeling tired and exasperated, Desmond said, " You're being a coward."

" Go away."

" You go away."

They glared at each other, and when silence reigned again, Desmond let it. He just didn't care. He couldn't think, and maybe Shaun was right. This wouldn't matter in the morning, he wouldn't remember, he wouldn't care about any of this.

...But then, why was he being so insistent, why was he fighting for this...whatever _this_ was.

Desmond observed Shaun, petulant now.

He started fidgeting when some half-baked idea began to form in his head: if asking to kiss him hadn't worked, would asking to be kissed be any more effective? Somehow, Desmond thought it would help Shaun's pride, and fear simultaneously.

But drunk or no, he'd be damned before he asked for that. Especially with Shaun. Especially with the way Shaun was refusing to...to...admit anything. There was no way he'd be the first to give in; he'd already put himself on the line - foolishly - and he'd been smacked in the face for his efforts. It would have been better if he'd never kissed the jerk in the first place, and _fuck_, he didn't even know _why_ he'd done that! His mind had been preoccupied with doughnuts, how could anyone blame him?

Shaun was starting to stiffly get up, movements a little wobbly. Desmond watched him, trying not to let his muscles tense up too much. He wanted to stop him and kiss him senseless, but he knew that wouldn't do, and Jesus, why had he ever wanted to kiss him in the first place? Why did he still want to?

_It's okay_, he thought, _these feelings will go away in the morning, hammered home with the pounding headache I'll have_.

Slow step after another, Shaun was moving away.

Desmond frowned, lips curling in distaste.

" _Fuck_!" he cursed loudly. " Damn you Shaun, would you just..." he faltered. The historian looked back at him, expression a mask of irritation.

" Kiss me?" he choked out, eyes glued to the ground. His face burned and he felt stupid.

" Are you kidding me?" Shaun's voice came, sounding just as angry as before. Desmond slumped.

When he chanced a glance up however, Shaun was there, close, much too close, cheeks red again. He bent over, scrunching up his face and pressing his lips quickly against Desmond's.

It was so warm, and Desmond's hands tentatively grabbed the historian's shirt, wanting more contact. Shaun's lips puckered against his, opening, and he moaned loudly, breath already coming faster while Shaun made a pleased sound in return. God, he tasted so good, better than any doughnut in existence.

They separated, and Desmond wordlessly tugged him back onto the couch with him. He wanted to say 'see! I meant it' but he couldn't talk. He was too busy kissing. If the alcohol had left him warm and lazy, then Shaun's kisses were putting him in a state of stifling heat and afflicting him with the worst kind of frenzy.

Desmond brought a hand up to Shaun's red cheek, and feeling the heat there was like all the confirmation he'd ever need.

Eventually, and without speaking, they started to struggle and wiggle out of their clothing (in the most ridiculous ways) excitement and need driving their hands to fumble and slip. They tried to kiss in between their attempt to undress, and the contact was so sloppy Desmond felt like he was acting in some lame porno; he could hardly believe himself.

And as he sucked on Shaun's bottom lip, he couldn't help but point something out.

" You did want me to kiss you," he panted, voice smug, kissing harder to make a point.

" So did you. The difference being you actually _asked_."

Of course Shaun was confident now, after the fact, who the hell wouldn't be? Desmond felt momentarily defeated. " Only because… _ah_, you wouldn't."

Shaun buried his head in the crook of Desmond's shoulder, biting sharply and then licking away the hurt. " You're still the chump who asked," he hummed complacently.

His pride was taking a hit, and he couldn't help the sulkiness in his voice. " Shut up, hah, it wasn't… you're just, nngh, a bastard –_hhnn_." Was he really so deprived or was he this horny all because of Shaun?

The answer was maybe quite plain in his straining erection, or maybe more evident in the way he writhed and emitted a cacophony of terrifyingly honest and gooey sounds when Shaun stroked him. Embarrassed, stomach trembling, and hips trying to gyrate against a creamy thigh, he had to consciously endeavor to return the favor.

There was a heartbeat of change now - now that they were both naked and no longer just kissing; even though they'd been palming and groping through clothing, the clothing had remained a barrier.

Shaun smirked at him at the first hesitant touch; obviously a taunt and glib challenge, but his eyes were soon fluttering shut and his mouth was opening in a silent 'o,' (Desmond could rectify anything out of determination, especially when a contest was involved, even get over stage fright). He enjoyed watching how Shaun's face pinched in a frown of concentration and laxness all at once, and Desmond licked his lips, panting hard as he silently pushed for more, because he knew he wouldn't last long.

He pulled Shaun down with him, kissing him steadily, leading with his lips. The couch hurt his back a little, but it was such a distant, non-existent worry. He spread his legs (again feeling he was in a badly acted porn movie) and avoided the other's eyes, hoping to skirt the amusement he would see there. Damn, he wanted this bad.

Instead, Shaun stilled for a moment, before barking a wheezing, groaning excuse for a chuckle. The arousal in that one sound reassured Desmond greatly, and he allowed his legs to be pushed further apart, reaching his hands up to grab Shaun's arms as he settled between his legs.

It was easy for Desmond to become lost in the motion and movement, and the pain was like a far away problem outside of him, because Shaun was careful; slow and steady and harshly cooing in that prissy way of his_._ Hearing Shaun's little gasps and groans spurred him on wildly, too, and he tugged on hair, for lack of anything else to tug. He thrashed his head back and forth (now feeling very much like a whore, never mind someone acting as one) but it was only because-

It wasn't enough, wasn't nearly enough.

His legs hooked on indolently moving hips, and he could scarcely keep quiet, whines leaving his throat in the form of _more, more, more_, shuddering breaths escaping his parted lips in pleas of _faster, faster, faster. _

In responsive to the needy whimpers of urgent encouragement, Shaun strained to murmur," Ask me again?" and his voice was a great deal warmer, more vulnerable, almost sugary (like strawberry doughnuts drizzled in icing).

Desmond smiled, trying to regulate his breathing enough to reply. " O-only because _you _asked so nicely."

He couldn't deny anything now, and he asked Shaun to kiss him, until the question turned into something like mindless begging and a command all at once. The whines forever underlined his words in breathless sighs: _there, there, there, yes. _And he _told _Shaun to kiss him until his breath was gone, until he was sure his brain would melt, until his feet were flexing as he twisted and bucked in erratic movements, his mouth held open in a wordless plea (for what, he wasn't sure). He could barely register the curses of ecstasy above him, and all he could do was muffle his cries against the juncture of a shoulder, biting there frantically, tasting salt and the sweetness of doughnuts. He clutched at Shaun desperately, his nails sliding against slippery skin.

After countless seconds -or were they minutes?- lost in near agonizing pleasure, they finally lay together in a mess, still shaking and trying to calm their heartbeats. The overwhelming smell of sweat and sex was lulling, and the cooling wetness wasn't even enough to solidify what had just happened. Desmond worried it was all a dream, so he mumbled sluggishly, " Kiss me."

And Shaun did, slowly, wetly and not long enough. He looked at Desmond as though he knew that he wanted more.

_Prick_, Desmond thought (even as he admired his red, glossily swollen lips).

" Tell me again."

Desmond did, all wide grins and soft eyes. He would keep telling him forever, even as he interjected between 'kiss me's that they definitely needed to shower soon because he was so damn _sticky_.

As it was, he could only tell Shaun 'kiss me's for so long on that couch, because he was quickly finding that the prick was excellent at rendering him unable to speak.

* * *

**EDIT**:[ Never mind not tinkering with it; I went back and edited a few (a lot of) things, hah, hopefully, if you're rereading or seeing it for the first time, it's still/is enjoyable!]

Firstly: a HUGE thank you to desalina90 for correcting my Italian in the first chapter. I honestly wish I was coherent in it, but alas, Google translate is my only tool. So again, thank you very much for correcting that, it really helps me out!

I had fun again, with this...Now. I felt like writing fluff. Please don't choke on it and die, please, then you'll be dead and what'll I do?

Well, here it is. The start to a beautiful relationship and the second installment of my 'asking for it' series. Shaun and Desmond...what can I say? For some reason, I picture Desmond as the romantic type (renting rom-coms when he had nothing better to do), and thus the reason for some of his mushiness. Shaun is...well, he's Shaun.

...The Altair and Malik bits were...well...I hope they turned out okay, but it was Desmond telling the 'story' so that's why it may have been a little weird.

Anyway, please, please leave me a review! I adore getting so many favorites and story alerts, but reviews really keep me going. I'm hesitant about this one, but I've been tinkering so much with it, I'm just going to leave it. Please, tell me what you thought, I honestly hope this was okay. Feedback will be loved eternally!

NEXT UP Altair and Malik!

Love,  
Kyla


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